Two Worlds, One Legacy: The Memoirs of Tarzan and Jane
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: Tarzan and Jane set down a chronicle of their lives. Each writing in their own words, they relate tales of their respective childhoods, early adventures, how they met, and the life they have made together. Foreword by Professor Archimedes Q. Porter, Sc. D.
1. Foreword

_I think I got the idea for this story from a_ 'Legend of Tarzan' episode, 'The Mysterious Visitor'. _In it, a writer, 'Ed', interviews various characters - Samuel T. Philander, Hugo and Hooft, Renard Dumont, and Jane Porter - who each give their own take on the 'lord of the jungle'. I thought it was an interesting idea, especially Jane's version; and I wondered what Tarzan would say for himself, if given the chance. I also wanted to fill in some of the blanks in the original story - more examples of the couple's lessons together; what Jane did while Tarzan was fighting Clayton; how they both felt the night before the Porters were due to leave, that sort of thing - and address some of the storylines from the tv series, since many of the plots were great, but left a few things unexplained._

_In case you are wondering about Tarzan's written 'voice', I am not going to write him in monosyllables and broken sentences. By the film's end, he can speak English pretty well. By the time of_ 'Legend of Tarzan'_, he is just about fluent, only occasionally get confused by idioms or unfamiliar words; in one episode, he stays up all night reading a stack of books, and in another, he is seen reading 'Frankenstein' aloud to Jane. I'm trying to keep my writing fairly simple for him, which is a struggle for me; when writing Jane or Professor Porter, I can go nuts with the adjectives and old-English vernacular, which I enjoy a lot. _

_While told mostly by Jane and Tarzan, Porter will pop up, in his role as editor, from time to time; Kala gets a few words in, and I might add some commentary from Terk and Tantor, if I get the chance._

_A quick note on time setting. It is hard to specifically date _Tarzan_, since Darwin, Kipling, and Queen Victoria are all mentioned in the film, yet the '_Legend of Tarzan_' series purportedly takes place in 1912, even though it has supposedly only been a year or so since the original film's end. I chose to shave a decade off that, setting the events of Tarzan around 1889-1901; Tarzan and Jane are telling this story a few years after that, giving the events of the tv series time to take place._

_I have ideas for other _Tarzan_ stories, as well as a pre-existing (just started!) crossover story with Arthur Conan Doyle's _'Sherlock Holmes'_, '_The Adventure of the Simian Savant'_. Please check it out, and if you like what I've done so far, feel free to leave a review - if people want it, I'd love to write more!_

_Enjoy! ~ W.J._

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><p><strong>Two Worlds, One Legacy - The Memoirs of Tarzan and Jane<strong>

**Foreword by Professor Archimedes Q. Porter, Sc. D.**

Throughout my storied career as a university academic and a scientific researcher, I have frequently had the ignoble honour of being called 'mentally deranged' by myriad colleagues and acquaintances.

I can weather such bald-faced abuse; in fact, I call it an honour.

It has long been the plight of the brilliantly-minded man to be misunderstood by his peers. Little more than a decade ago, '_On the Origin of the Species'_ was derided as the laudanum-induced ravings of a certifiable lunatic. Now, Sir Charles Darwin is rightly revered as the questing genius he always was.

If the same such social phenomenon also applies to myself, I must be a dazzling luminary indeed; for 'mad' is a moniker which I have been burdened with for most of my professional life. First I was a befuddled lab assistant, irretrievably corrupted by the outrageous notions of that same derided, most regal statesman of the scientific world. Then, once I began postulating my own theories and receiving a few grants, I was labelled a middle-aged misanthrope with delusions of grandeur and an unhealthy obsession with apes. More recently, in my twilight years, I have been labelled a doddery nincompoop and a senile old fool.

I cling to the ever-pervading hope that, like Darwin before me, to be merely misunderstood is my lot; for I have always believed that I am possessed of a tolerably sound mind.

When they call me mad, I pity their ignorance. When they so gravely misinterpret my intention, I wonder at their own sanity.

Admittedly, the more recent comments of this kind are easier to forgive, for they have been directed at me out of concern, not malice. There are those who would label me a _bona fide_ miscreant for allowing my only daughter to wed a savage jungle man; a man who would abscond her, delicate flower of the realm that she is, far away from the lights of the civilized world, amid the hostile environs of an uncharted frontier, where no other maiden foot hath tread*. In other circumstances, I would perhaps be induced to agree that a man who would willingly submit his child to such a fate must indeed be, if not entirely of a disturbed disposition, at the very least a most inadequate parent.

I would assuredly come to much similar conclusions - if I had not met Tarzan myself.

Instead, to those who would criticism me for letting my darling girl cavort in the desolate outreaches of the realm with a wild man, I pose to you this question: what kind of man would willingly thwart his child's greatest happiness, if not a mad one? What kind of lunatic would dare stand in the way of the purest, most devoted attribution of love that I have ever had the privilege to witness?

The only weakness of mind I had was to ever dare suggest that my daughter should abandon this one sterling chance at true happiness, simply for the sake of returning to that gilded cage of civility which she had always known. Faced with the prospect of either watching my dear Janey languish in the relative comfort of gloomy old England, or lead a life of joyful squalor in the deepest shadows of the Dark Continent, was not the right choice to make an obvious one? In choosing the former, I would have imprisoned my girl for life, in a miserable ruin of squandered dreams; and by placing so little confidence in the man she dearly loves, I would have terribly wronged the noblest heart I have ever known to beat within human flesh.

You would ask if I am mad, sir? I answer definitively that I am not.

You would only need look at the smile upon my girl's face; at the tenderness that shines in her eyes, and is reflected in every aspect within her adoring husband's own, to know that nothing could be further from the truth. Such sights could cure the most feverish brain; would soothe all doubts of sanity from the most cynical mind. In my dotage, I have been miraculously gifted with a multitude of blessings: a closely-united family, a contented daughter, a devoted son-in-law, and a life filled almost to bursting with an endless source of constant wonder. If I am indeed mad, sir, I choose to remain deranged; for surely, such complete happiness cannot be found on this earth, save in this paradise, of which we have found ourselves to be proud custodians.

A little while ago, I suggested to my girl that our story might be put down in written record for posterity. She was, at first, apprehensive that our much-loved privacy would be so impinged upon; however, she soon came to be of a similar mind. She had a hard time convincing her husband likewise. Though a wonderfully eloquent man when he wishes to be, he is not one given to an excessive use of words, for actions speak louder with him; he was understandably reticent to put down his innermost thoughts in written form, where anyone might glance at them. Just as he is so wonderfully protective of us, we are likewise protective of him. We were quick to reassure him that he would not be misrepresented in any way, and that this text would simply provide him with a means of speaking for himself, while half of London must by now be repeating entirely erroneous gossip about him. Eventually, he came around to our way of thinking.

It is important that these things are known; so that, at the very least, future generations shall know what we nurtured here, what we fought to protect. So that those who come after us, in times which are, with some luck, more receptive to us and our way of life, will properly comprehend the value of what we have. We wish to express how grateful we are for everything this place has given us - a haven, a home, a family; a renewed and rejuvenated life, such as we never dreamed we could ever find, in England or anywhere.

At my coaxing, my daughter and my son-in-law have here set down their writings - their recollections of their time spent on their individual paths, walked apart; and the way in which they fortuitously came together, against seemingly insurmountable odds. Although they are yet still so very young, both of them have led incredible lives; indeed, my son-in-law's remarkable experiences sometimes beggar belief. It is my most sincere hope that you, fair reader, will come to know him as we do, and to recognize in him the noblest 'savage' to have ever walked this earth. He is a treasure and a tribute to all who know him; save to those who have crossed him, may God alone forgive such foul deeds as would raise the ire of that most gracious heart. Of human guile and greed, he knows but the barest examples; which makes all this misguided rabble about him an even more lamentable injustice. The lad could be no greater friend and protector to me, nor treat my girl any better. We feel, both of us, that our lives have forever been enriched just by knowing him.

As the humble editor of this volume, I shall return from time to time, to impart what modest insights I may have to offer. For now, I hand you over to the esteemed mother of my son-in-law, who dictated her own discourse to my daughter for transcription. Before you turn away in ridicule from a passage authored by an ape, I ask you to at least do Kala the courtesy of hearing what she has to say. Simian though she may be, she is quite possibly the most sage, dignified lady whom I have ever encountered; save, perhaps, for my own very dear late wife.

Annabelle, my darling, I dedicate this to you. I miss you, and wish you could have dwelt in this verdant sanctuary alongside us. I know that you are still with us always: in my heart, and in the living image of our beloved daughter, who is as beautiful as you in every way.

- Archimedes Q. Porter

*My apologies to Tarzan; in hindsight, I acknowledge that his own mother, rest her soul, must have tread these remote shores of Africa some twenty years before mine and Janey's arrival. She and her husband will forever be remembered by us as the first brave pioneers to land and make their home here, in far less hospitable circumstance. This tome is also dedicated to their memory - lest we ever forget the invaluable legacy that they have left us.

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><p>My life has been mostly unremarkable, by jungle standards; save for two events that changed it forever.<p>

The first was when my son Tarzan came to me, just when I needed him, and he needed me.

The second was when we welcomed his mate, Jane, and her father into our family.

From the time my son first entered my life, he became my life; he helped to heal my broken heart. All I have ever wanted is for him to be happy.

Jane makes him happier than I have ever seen him. She is everything I could wish for him in a mate.

I can imagine no happiness greater than this.

I only wish Kerchak could have lived to see it. I know he would be so very proud.

- K.

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><p><span>Editor<span>: This discourse was verbalized in Gorilla language, which my daughter then translated into conventional English. I wish that readers could enjoy the delightful characteristics of the Ape-ish dialect; however, as they have no written vernacular of their own, we had no choice but to transcribe Kala's words into our own tongue. I can vouch for the fact that the translation has been admirably done, with very little change to the original meaning, nor loss of tone; and I say that with absolutely no bias of a father's pride. - A.Q.P.

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><p><em>Author's note: I might need to include my own notes every so often; it's my habit to do so in all my stories. To differentiate them from character commentary, which is part of the story, I'll format them in all-italics, like this. The rest of the story will alternate between Jane's and Tarzan's viewpoints; rather than break up the flow by putting their names at the head of each section, I will write the first few words of Jane's parts in italics, <strong>Tarzan's in bold<strong>, and Porter's beginning with '_Editor'_. I hope it won't be too confusing; if it is, let me know and I'll change it._

_By the way, 'Annabelle' is the name I chose for Jane's mother, since she goes unnamed in the film/tv series, despite being mentioned a few time. I chose it because it is similar to the 'Aunt Isabelle' that Porter mentions in the blackboard scene._


	2. Introductions

**Introductions**

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><p><em>Looking back, I believe myself<em> to have been the most unremarkable girl to have ever stood in well-heeled shoe-leather.

My father claims that he always knew I was destined for greatness. I can only view such outrageous flattery as a father's conceit; for I have always viewed myself as a 'plain Jane', as much in manner as in name.

A few years ago, you would not have been able to pick me out in a soiree of cosseted and corseted London girls. At the first-rate finishing school that I attended in my youth, I was taught how to speak well, act politely, dress properly, and maintain a high standard of propriety at all times. As such, I was made in much the same shape as any other young English lady. I was physically moulded by the latest in bustles and laces, while my psyche was refined enough to allow me to include a few appropriate quotes from the classics in conversation. Compared to my sister schoolmates, I was relatively handsome, reasonably intelligent, and moderately accomplished; neither obviously lacking, nor outstandingly admirable in any particular way.

At least, this is the surface impression I perceive myself as having cast at the time. Truth be told, if I was able to so convincingly disguise myself among my peers, it was only done to hide my inner eccentricities. I confess that I was always much more interested in primates than in parties. Any young man who made bold enough to speak to me at a dance would find himself in the company of an awkward, flat-footed dullard, whose only redeeming feature was that she possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of dinosaur species. I was a born zoologist, not an anthropologist; I was always happier in the company of specimens, than in the stifling presence of polite society.

I do not know why this was the case. Perhaps a great deal of it must be attributed to my father's influence; I was always very proud of his work, and wished to help contribute to it in any small way I could. Besides that, I must admit that my interest in such things manifested itself of its own accord. If my circumstance offered me the opportunity, it was my own inclination which prompted me to enter the same field of study as he. Any other debutante would have cringed at the thought of mouldering away in dust-festooned archives, or lingering for hours in sterile, acrid-smelling laboratories; I, on the other hand, flourished in such surroundings. What I really longed for, however, was a proper field expedition: an adventure in the wild, exotic climes, far beyond the boundaries of dreary old England. I dreamed nightly of some unspoiled paradise which I was sure existed in some remote outreach of the earth's sphere, where assorted wonders of a botanical and zoological kind were just waiting for me to come and document them. This blissful fantasy was never too far away from my waking thoughts; and yet, I do not think I ever quite believed that I would find such a close approximation of this idyll anywhere in life. What I _did_ find far surpasses any expectation I could ever invent.

Perhaps Daddy is right; maybe I really was destined for other things. I find it ironic that I once prided myself on having some higher purpose in life other than keeping abreast of the current fashions, hosting successful dinner parties, or acquiring for myself a suitable spouse; and yet, I now count my marriage as the greatest accomplishment I have thus far - or will ever - manage to achieve in my lifetime.

I cannot even begin to put into words what meeting Tarzan did for me, and how much he means to me. Other brides might despair at the prospect of having to give up many of the comforts of civilized life, to sequester themselves away with their betrothed - and to make their new abode up in a tree, no less. I gladly submit myself to such conditions, and would willingly endure far worse deprivations, if it only means that I can be by his side.

He is worth all of that; and far, far more.

There is so much to love about my husband. I would bore you, and have to begin a far thicker volume all of my own, if I were to attempt to list all of his admirable traits. Instead, I will merely sketch a quick impression for you, including those things that I adore most about him. Despite his many other more obvious attributes, such as his great physical strength, outstanding athleticism, and keen intelligence, his greatest asset, I would have to say, is his innate sensitivity. He is hardly the brute that most 'civilized' people would consider him to be; he has the noblest, most courageous, gentlest heart of anyone that I have ever met.

Anyone who knows him half as well as I do would acknowledge that this is in no way any exaggeration. I am utterly privileged that somehow, he has chosen me as his wife and his mate, and so I have come to know him better than any other. He sometimes claims that he could not have come to know his own self, without me there to help him fully realize it. I find this too ridiculous to believe; he would be his same, inimitable self, with a proficiency for English or without, whether walking upright or crouched on all fours. At times, I find it almost overwhelming that I could inspire such love in someone as incredible in every way as he is. I never dreamed that I would find someone who could care so much for a 'plain Jane' like me; nor that I could ever love someone as deeply, so utterly and completely, as I do him.

Living with him has opened my eyes to so many things. If I have imparted to him some useful instruction - things such as how to speak and write in English, proper etiquettes, table manners, and other trivial, human matters - then he has taught me the equivalent, and then tenfold. My father recently put it to me that these lessons would do well to be preserved, as an example to others. I hardly dare lecture on a topic which I am still far from mastering; my current life presents new challenges and discoveries every day, forever providing me with an infinite store of things I have yet to learn. Despite this caveat, I have come to agree that our singular experience might be worth making known to others. If I can inspire another young woman to dare as I dared, I will have achieved something grand indeed.

Mostly, however, this story is of, about, and written for my husband. Just as he has welcomed me into his life, I feel I owe it to him to share with him my own, revealing all that I was before our first meeting. I fear that he, and any other readers that this volume may attract, will find it unfeasibly dull; however, such is the story that I own, and I would willingly share it, if I may. I hope that whoever reads it might bear witness to the indescribable heights of happiness I have found here: surrounded by those I love most, in a place more beautiful than any other to be found.

This modest chronicle is dedicated to Professor Archimedes Porter, or Daddy, as I call him. You have always known best, dear father of mine. From the earliest times I can remember, you were my faithful teacher and explorer, leading me into the vast, undiscovered territories of scientific research; and guiding me through the even more fathomless matters of the heart.

Last, and by no means least, I dedicate this wholeheartedly to my husband, Tarzan. I love you more than words can say. I wish for nothing more than to share all of my life - past, present, and future - with you, forever and always.

- J. E. Porter

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><p><strong>I am not<strong> **accustomed to putting** my thoughts into words. Until quite recently, I did not know a single word of English, let alone that such a thing as writing existed.

My wife assures me that I have been a fast learner. She says that in a few short years, I have managed what a lot of men take half a lifetime to master. It is true that I have progressed well past the first simple picture book I ever set eyes on, at twenty years of age.

All the same, I fear that am not yet up to this task. In the jungle, when one feels unprepared to take on something, it is far wiser not to attempt it. I say this not out of cowardice, but self-preservation; all my life, I have equated the threat of failure with the very real risk of death. Of course, putting my life down in writing does not cast it into any sort of peril. Still, I have some reservations about taking on this task. Having never come into contact with more than a hundred different men throughout my life, I find it disconcerting to think that these words might someday be read by many hundreds, if not thousands of people - all of London will want this publication, the professor assures me - who I shall never meet. I cannot imagine that I am currently addressing that many people through this writing. Also, I cannot believe that so many people would take an interest in me.

The only people I know of who would care to know that much of me are my wife and my father-in-law. Both of them have often asked me to tell them about my early years. They are convinced that I have led the most remarkable life of any man who ever lived. I cannot agree; it is my life, and I have never known any other. It is neither strange nor commonplace to me, it just _is_.

Be that as it may, I have agreed to do this, at their request. Since they have asked me so sincerely, and so persistently, I hate to disappoint them.

I hope any other readers will not take offence when I say that I am writing this solely for Jane, and no one else. She has promised to write out her life for me, so that I can know all the things I have missed, such as her life in England - everything that happened to her before she met me. I owe it to her to return the favour.

Please forgive me if I make some mistakes in this writing. The Professor and Jane have promised to correct some of the worst errors I make, so I won't embarrass myself too much. However, they say that any small mistakes that are left will give the reader a better impression of who I am. My story is so fantastic, they say, that unless I leave some evidence of how much I have had to labour to learn English, readers will not believe that what I claim is true.

Since I am told that it is customary to dedicate writings like this to someone special, I will dedicate mine to my family - especially to my wife, Jane. None of this would be possible, and would not mean anything, if not for you.

- Tarzan

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><p><span>Editor<span>: it is hard believe that my son-in-law only learned how to write a few short years ago. Though my daughter and I offered to transcribe his spoken recollections for him, this prospect seemed to make him self-conscious, and he expressed a desire to write it down himself. I must say, his penmanship is admirable; though he still retains a preference for print over cursive script, his authorship is perfectly legible to the eye, if still a bit rough and utilitarian in style. To watch him write is, as with most other things about him, highly remarkable; he is quick, yet contemplative, putting careful thought into every word he sets down. This document is a credit to him, and to his adorable teacher. - A.Q.P.

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><p><em>Author's note: that gets the establishment of the characters out of the way. Next, I'll be starting at the beginning, with Jane and Tarzan's respective childhoods and familial backgrounds. I'll be tackling the events of the film chronologically from there.<em>

_By the way, if anyone has any particular scene they'd like to see included, please let me know; just give me a chance to get to some of the obvious ones, as I already have a fairly detailed plan of what I want to write, but I can fit further episodes in around it. _

_Also, Jane's words about Tarzan having 'the gentlest heart of anyone I have ever met' are taken straight from the '_Legend of Tarzan_' episode that I mentioned; that line in particular provided a lot of inspiration, it was so beautiful. ~ W.J._


	3. Childhood

_Author's note: A quick explanation of the formatting for this chapter, and chapters to come. Wherever you see a bracketed number, like this(7), you will find a corresponding footnote at the bottom of the page, written by Professor Porter; these are probably best left to read after the rest of the chapter, in case they give away spoilers. I'll add my own additional author notes beneath that._

_Without further ado, enjoy! ~ W.J._

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><p><strong>Childhood<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I was born to a good,<em> respectable family in Knightsbridge, about as far removed from the wilds of Africa as one can get.

My father, Archimedes Q. Porter, is a brilliant naturalist and biological scientist. More specifically, Daddy is a leading zoological behaviourist. In all my time, I have never known anyone to approach any kind of research with as much steadfast commitment as he devotes to every aspect of his study; he is an exemplar, whom any scholar would do well to emulate.

Daddy's own father was an officer in the British navy. By the time Daddy was born, he had achieved some success in his career, risen through the ranks, and afforded his family a fairly comfortable position. In a momentary spate of rebelliousness, Daddy broke away from the family trade, becoming ordained in his youth; however, he soon tired of this theological bent and, relenting to hereditary pressures, served as a chaplain on a diplomatic mission to South Africa, as part of Sir Theophilus Shepstone's contingent. It was a voyage which forever changed the course of my father's life; and subsequently, mine as well. Though he and the rest of his party hardly ventured outside of Port Natal, Daddy was fascinated by what little of the local wildlife he saw. Inspired by his foreign sojourn, he returned to England with a new calling. The last time he took up the cloth, it was to officiate at my wedding; otherwise, he has been a devout man of scientific reasoning ever since. Though he started his academic pursuits rather later than most, he soon made up for lost time, completing his doctorate at record speed. Thus began his long and distinguished career as a researcher in the noblest, most sympathetic field of all the sciences.

Luckily, Daddy's own father was impressed enough by his brief military service to permit him a modest allowance, and so indirectly facilitated this new, somewhat eccentric preoccupation from afar. It was unfortunate that the maternal side of my family were rather less tolerant.

My mother, Annabelle, came from a dynasty of well-to-do haberdashers, who had enjoyed a thriving trade since the late 1700's and accumulated considerable wealth in that time. Though my mother hardly had to earn her own living, she had inherited the same talent with a needle, and was a first-rate millinery seamstress. By the age of fifteen, she was in demand to trim hats for half of fashionable London; within a year, creations of hers would sell for no less than five guineas apiece. This accomplishment aside, she was an astute, intelligent, utterly charming woman; or so my father insists. Though his opinion might be more than a little embellished by a husband's loyalty, I myself choose to take him at his word.

How was it that this simian savant should cross paths with a leading bastion of the sartorial set? It so happened that both of them were passing through Regents Park at the same time - he to observe the primates at the nearby zoo, she sketching the passersby in their well-hatted Sunday splendour. Seeing that they each carried a sketchbook, they struck up a conversation and compared artist's models. My father was so reticent back then, so he tells me; he used to dealing with subjects that did not talk back. He could barely get a word out, faced with my mother in her resplendent walking-outfit, her own silk-banded, feather-trimmed finery perched upon her head at the most fetching angle. Luckily, she was of a more forward disposition. She intimated that she might come to this same spot to sketch every subsequent Sunday, and if it was convenient, he might chose to make his field studies at the same time; a suggestion to which he hastily acquiesced. And so, they began to have weekly meetings of the utmost discretion, which gradually became bi-weekly, then every second day, until they could not bear to see each other on anything less than a daily basis.

Once the inevitable proposal took place, my maternal grandfather made his displeasure known. He was a good Christian of almost saintly devotions, and looked unkindly upon my father's association with the teachings of Darwin, that heretic who sought to replace the Creator with a slew of primitive chimps. He loudly opposed the marriage, and swore that he would not send a single shilling to the couple if their union went ahead.

Well, my mother immediately got to work. She made, so I am told, no less than twenty hats in the space of a fortnight; and every one of them sold for ten guineas or more. Monetary gain aside, she found a number of willing commiserators among her clientele. When it looked as though the family business might have its spotless reputation besmirched by their wretched treatment of their poor, besotted daughter, my esteemed grandpa decided to grudgingly provide her with an ample trousseau. My father was not badly lacking in funds himself; and so, the newly-weds were able to set up house in a desirable part of London, with Exhibition Road and Sloane Street both in close proximity, as suited the respective tastes of the eclectic couple.

Thus, I arrived to what was, for the better part, a serene, secure, and loving household. I remember it as a happy time, despite the sorrows that were to come.

I suppose I was what one might call a 'spirited' child. Though I was well-behaved and obedient to the best of my ability, I confess that I must have been rather trying to bring up at times. I remember teaching Robbie, the neighbour's little boy, how to walk crouched on all fours, leaning on his knuckles; in so doing, I caught the heel of my shoe in the hem of my dress, tearing off the expensive lace flounces that my mother had sewn into it for me. Robbie and I got into even greater trouble when he attempted to swing from the branches of the trees that lined our avenue in the style of the grey-faced langur, with my coaching; his outstretched foot knocked the hat off a passing swell, who threatened to have us both arrested for committing a nuisance. My mother laughed heartily once the incident had been resolved; the hat in question was a seedy thing, its felt worn bald in places, which its owner had attempted to disguise by painting over it with lampblack.

You can see that even from a young age, my interests very much fell in line with my father's. He claims that at five years old, when asked what I wanted for my birthday, I inquired as to why teddy bears did not come in the shape of monkeys, which I would have very much preferred. He somehow managed to procure a wonderful stuffed gorilla for me, to which my mother stitched a little patch of soft grey velveteen, making it a proper silver-back.

Though I had several playmates my own age with whom I could happily pass the time, it was my parents' company that I enjoyed the best. I was quite lucky that they were both largely present in my life, for a time at least.

My father had created a most proficient laboratory for himself in the study of our house(1); he occupied it for the majority of hours in the day, entering this hallowed sanctum direct from the breakfast table, and only rarely emerging from it before suppertime. I would eagerly invade this sanctuary of his, pestering him with endless questions about this specimen or that diagram - what type of tree that lemur lived in, how high that bird could manage to fly; until, he says, I myself resembled a chattering little monkey. Then, he would suggest that I go and visit my mother.

I was permitted to impose upon her, so long as I behaved quietly and refrained from disturbing her too much. My mother, though formidable in many other ways, had long been of a delicate constitution, and since my birth, her health had dramatically worsened. Any kind of activity was greatly strenuous to her; as far back as I can remember, she seldom left her bed or ventured far from her couch. Her sickroom had once been her studio, and it was a veritable treasure-trove for a child like me. I loved to investigate her many drawers and boxes full of trims and trinkets; I would pile them on top of the blank hats that perched upon her old milliner's blocks, imagining that fashionable ladies would soon come to purchase my creations. I would take out her reels of ribbon and throw them about in tangled festoons, carefully sorting and re-winding them when I had finished my play. Even her brooches became my toys: I would push bejewelled tortoises, swallows and ladybirds - many of them past gifts from Father - across the cushions of the settee, setting the sparkling pieces in a rousing game of chasings.

Mother could not join in my wilder games, but we did spend some wonderful times together. Taking up a sketchbook, she would listen to my voluble descriptions of Daddy's latest work, sketching hats inspired by hornbills, toucans, or tamarins as I spoke. Sometimes she would let me have the paper first, and I would scrawl out childish figures of monkeys scampering through the branches of stick-and-scribble trees. She would then proceed to outfit them with her crisp, confident pencil-strokes: adding shirt sleeves, complete with cufflinks, to simian wrists, or adorning prehensile tails with an assortment of lavish jewels. Other times, we would carry out the process in reverse: I would draw pompous pelicans beneath her top hats, jaunty jackdaws beneath her straw boaters, and - what else? - actual ostriches beneath bonnets covered in rich plumes.

At times, she would protest that she did not feel quite strong enough to lift the pencil, and I would lie on the quilt beside her while she rested. This was how I invented my favourite game of all.

My mother was a woman of peerless good taste; the chamber that had been set aside for her convalescence was made both extremely comfortable, and extraordinarily pleasing to the eye. She often had Miriam, her trusted ladies' maid, go out and buy new furnishings for her, to freshen up the room and replace the old. Other times, when he was obliged to venture over to Oxford or to one of the museums for his work, Daddy would obtain things for her as gifts, though his choices tended to have a decidedly organic theme about them. In particular, there was a brocade coverlet he got for her, which I absolutely adored. It was embroidered all over with a seemingly endless array of different foliages. When Mumsy was too tired to entertain me, she would spread this blanket over us both, and while she slept, I would be busily forming the satin folds into miniature landscapes, which I would then populate with my make-believe menagerie. In this wooded hollow, a congress of baboons would live; among the hibiscuses, hummingbirds would be found, while a pride of lions stalked the intricately-stitched grasses nearby; and here, at the foot of this chasm, which to my mind was actually the silken drape of a flowing waterfall, a family of gorillas made their home within the bamboo thicket.

Thus I would occupy myself, manipulating the sumptuous cloth into little hills and dales, making quiet animal noises to myself as I imagined each species occupying the environs I had built for it. When my mother woke, she would ask me what kind of animals there were in the bed today; and I would tell her all about the little family groups that inhabited the sheets between us. I liked it best when my father would come in during these recitals. Mumsy would always come up with the most ingenious stories to tell him.

She would say: "Oh, Archie, a stampede of rhinos just came through this valley on their way to the watering hole. If you had only come sooner, we could have ridden them together; we were using that good lace ribbon there for bridles, wreathed around their horns."

Or: "We were just wandering the savannahs of Kenya, darling, in the company of the director of the Marrakech Express. I am sure he and Lady Blixen would love to hear all about that new species of canna lily that you recently helped classify. What colour did you say its flowers were again?"

Years later, my father would declare that I myself had the exact same propensity for telling tales(2). However, I cannot claim to have my mother's incredible powers of invention. Soon after we arrived in Africa, I did narrate to him my own fantastical account of my solo adventures; the major difference being that, in my case, every word of it was true.

Those were idyllic, carefree days; and would come to seem even more so when I look back at them, in light of what was soon to come.

I was not aware at the time that my parents' occupations were anything out of the ordinary. Well, I knew that Daddy did some very important work, which not just anybody's father could manage to do. However, I did not realize at the time how peculiar my mother's weak condition was; I did not know anything different, and considered her conduct to be perfectly normal. It was only when I grew older and attended boarding school that I discover this was somehow out of the ordinary. Listening to the other girls gossip about their own relations, that I realized mothers were supposed to do so many things: keep house, oversee the weekly laundry and the baking, attend or give impressive parties and balls, conduct fundraisers, coordinate the weekly shopping, and countless other domestic duties which, in our household, were either relegated to the faithful Miriam's care, or omitted altogether. Some mothers even went so far as to become suffragists. I wasn't quite sure I wanted my mother to stand on a soapbox and hold up a placard, as they did; but it would have been nice if she was able to.

I remember feeling mildly appalled and disappointed that she did none of these things which other mothers regularly performed, as if such tasks were simply their accepted marital obligation. To think that for all these years, my own mother had been so shirking her responsibilities! I had always thought her to be a prime example of what the ideal modern woman should be: an absolute paragon of intelligence, taste and class, which was what I understood, at the time, a true woman of worth to be. Now, with the enlightenment that my sister students provided, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps she was a less-than-adequate a mother.

I felt so ashamed as I arrived at such a denouncement - as if her deficiencies were somehow a poor reflection upon myself. I regret to have to admit it now, but I began to rather begrudge my mother for her illness, as though it were somehow her fault. Before my reader condemns me as a selfish, insensitive girl, please understand that at this impressionable age, a young lady's sense of self-worth is entirely reliant upon how well she conforms to the standards of her peers. All my schoolmates had mothers like the ones I have described, and they expected mine to be the same; so when I perceived myself to have failed their expectations, I was mortified. It pains me now to relate all of this now - I was too young then to fully understand just how ill she was. It is probably just as well, or I would have worried about her so very much.

If there was anything positive to come of my childish delusion, there is the fact that it went some way towards furthering my personal development. Since my mother was unable to do so many things, I became determined to excel at as many of them as possible. I participated in all kinds of school-based activities: the walking society, croquet club, bird-watching association, embroiderer's group. I had a go at everything, from badminton to poetry recitation. I even, in a moment of sheer recklessness, applied myself to the diving team, even though I have always been something of a clumsy Clara, and had only the barest mastery of the basic swim strokes. It later turned out to be a most astute decision: years later, leaping head-first into the pool would serve as terrific preparation for swinging on vines and sliding down branches.

All this I did, in a misguided effort to somehow prove myself more proficient than my poor, ailing mother. How I wish I could go back and talk some sense into my foolish past self. I cannot believe that I was able to feel such disdain towards her, while she, through no fault of her own, had suffered so terribly, and for so long. Now I fully recognize what true strength she had, to have borne her affliction with an incredible outward fortitude. My incessant presence in her sickroom must have been very wearing on her; yet she never showed it, giving me as much of her time and attention as her health would allow.

What time we had was not nearly close to enough. Daddy and I lost her all too soon.

To my childish mind, it seemed natural that my mother would go on existing for years to come. When you are that young, and so comfortably brought up, death seemed like a foreign entity that visited other unfortunate families, not ours. I had lost both sets of grandparents very early in life, but since I was too young to remember them, they had never quite seemed like real people to me, and I did not really mourn them.

When I was suddenly called home early from school, I was more than a little annoyed. Even then, they tried to hide the truth from me, in an effort to protect me; I was simply told that my parents wished to grant me an early vacation. The reason for my requested absence became a talking point among the other girls, and I was highly embarrassed to find myself the subject of idle gossip. If I had known what dreadful news would await me when I did arrive home, I wouldn't have paid any mind at all.

Mumsy passed away before I could get there. At the time, Daddy was working in his room, just down the hall. Miriam discovered her when she came to administer her daily medicines. She went while everyone she loved was so close to her - Daddy and Miriam in the same house, I speeding through the countryside not ten miles away - and yet, she died so utterly alone. The thought of it is near unbearable, even after all these years(3).

Life lost most of its lustre after that, for both Daddy and I. The spectre of her passing lay heavily on us, and would not dissipate for some time to come.

Trying though my loss undoubtedly was, it was nothing compared to that which my husband was forced to suffer, far earlier in his life. You will learn as much once you have read his own, highly singular account of his boyhood years.

* * *

><p><strong>I never knew my birth-parents.<strong> They were killed by Sabor the leopard, when I was still too young to remember them.

What little I know of them, I know from the things they left behind in the tree house, which Jane and I now make our home. In the bottom drawer of an old dresser, wrapped in an oilskin, we found the log book of the SS Fuwalda, a ship that left Dover more than twenty years ago and never arrived at port. My parents managed to get hold of the ship's records before it sank, and they wrote down what happened to it: caught in a violent storm, its mast was struck by a bolt of lightning, sparking a blaze that soon destroyed the entire ship.

Almost everyone on board at the time was killed. There were only three survivors.

My father, my mother, and I were the Fuwalda's passengers. My father was called John. My mother's name was Alice. I do not know what name they gave me, for they never wrote it down in the logbook, which they made into their own journal; any reference to me was just 'the baby' or 'our boy'.

Documents with the name 'Greystoke' written on them were folded inside the journal. I do not know whether this was the title of their clan, or the place that they came from. If 'Greystoke' means anything to anyone who reads this, I ask you to please not share what you know with us. All my life, I have regarded myself as one of the apes. Whoever else I may have been when I was born, I am now only Tarzan. If I have some other human kin somewhere, I wish them well, but I do not want to be associated with them. I have led an isolated life, and the matters of places beyond my home do not interest me; everything that I could possibly need is here. I am more than happy with my lot, and do not wish to complicate this happiness by speculating over what could have been(4).

My parents must have both been very brave, and very strong. They managed to escape the burning ship with me, and came to shore on the nearby coast.

It is, apparently, because of me that we now live on this very spot. As my parents explored the fringes of the jungle closest to the shore, looking for some form of shelter, I, then no more than a few months old, pointed towards a large tree that stood beside a freshwater stream, overlooking the beach. My parents, taking this as a favourable sign, used timber salvaged from the wrecked ship to build a house, high up in the tree's branches. Raised more than thirty feet off the ground, with a clear view of the approach on all sides and plentiful water nearby, they felt secure enough here to begin a new life.

If only I had been older and wiser, knowing what I do now. Perhaps I would have advised them to find a safer nest, or warned them of the dangers that, unbeknownst to them, were rapidly approaching.

But I am getting too far ahead in my tale. My wife told me that writing things down would help me to organize my thoughts. Let me try to tell things in their proper order.

If my parents saved me from the sinking ship in the first instance, my adopted mother saved me in the second.

Kala is a female ape, and a beautiful one. She has thick, rich brown fur, a well-shaped snout, clean limbs, and kind grey eyes. She is very gentle, caring, patient and wise. I do not think it would be possible to find a better-suited parent, among the apes or anywhere. Having not been aware of my birth-parents until fairly recently, I have always referred to her as my mother, and will continue to do so in these writings.

Mother had also been through a tragedy of her own. A few days before she found me, hers and her mate Kerchak's son, Korak, had been hunted and killed by a leopard - the same leopard, Sabor, who would slay my birth-parents. It very nearly broke her heart, she has told me; she could barely raise her head from the weight of her sorrow. The pain of it only began to ease after we found each other. In our loss, we were the greatest comfort either of us could have.

I am getting ahead again. I am about to write of unpleasant things, which I have never talked about with anyone, except for my family. I will try to get their telling over with as quickly as I can.

After Sabor took his son, Kerchak, the head of the family, led the gorillas to the nest area that they used during the dry season. It was nearer to the coast; the leopards lived in caves beneath Mount Indigo, and did not often venture so far from their dens. Mother says that she was walking at the back of the group, still thinking about the death of her son. It was only because she lingered behind that she happened to hear me crying, the sound echoing across the valley to her. If the other gorillas heard it, she was the only one that heeded it. She says that to this day, she cannot explain why she followed my cries. The voice of a human child does not sound at all like a gorilla's. The professor says that science has proven that apes and humans have a lot in common, in body and in mind(5); perhaps it is true, for the sound of my crying called to the mother's instinct in her. She thinks that perhaps she simply recognized the sound of a baby in distress. Since she so missed her own child, she was determined to do for this other what she hadn't been able to do for hers.

She had never seen a den like this one before. It was made of dead foliage that had somehow been fastened together, with a swinging curtain of loose wood through which to enter. At the time, she didn't really understand what it was that she looked at; all of the objects were as foreign to her as the contents of the Porters' tents would be to me, many years later. What she could see was this: a broken window, through which something could have easily gotten in; a loaded gun dropped upon the floor, having fired several rounds into the wooden wall; and the bodies of my parents, surrounded by the prints of a leopard.

In the final minutes before their deaths, they must have overturned the furniture to form one last barricade, and tried to drive Sabor away with gunfire from behind it. Such an obstacle would never deter a proficient hunter - a killer - like Sabor. My father protected my mother until the end. They died clinging together, in each other's arms.

If their defence of themselves had failed, their protection of me was far better. They had turned over an open sea chest and propped it on top of my cradle, then flung a blanket over me, shielding me from view. It was just as well I began to cry, or I might have suffocated, after a time. Before that could happen, my mother found me.

Imagine her surprise at the sight of me; she had never seen a creature like me before, so small and pale and hairless. I must have been the ugliest baby she had ever seen, by ape standards. When I ask her what could have possibly convinced her to take me in, she tells me that it was the way I seemed to welcome her - I reached up my hands to her and gurgled, as though in my delight to see her, I couldn't help but laugh. Curious to find out what I was, she lifted me out of my nest. Once I was in her arms, I nestled in the crook of her elbow and quickly went to sleep, as though I was meant to be there all along.

By then, she says, she couldn't bear to leave me. Here was a baby who obviously needed a mother, and it had chosen her as its own. For the first time since she had lost her child, she felt her life had a purpose again; I re-taught her what it was like to feel happiness.

That joy was fleeting; Sabor, following my cries for a very different purpose, had returned to the site of her kill. Having already claimed both my parents as her prey, I do not know why she was so determined to finish me as well(6). Perhaps she thought that a thing that could cry so loudly must have been a threat; maybe she feared that my ape-mother was attempting to steal her kill. The way things would turn out years later, it would have served her well to have killed me then.

But she didn't. For the second time in my short life, I was saved - this time by Kala, who would continue to mother and protect me for the rest of my life. She managed to keep me away from Sabor's claws, until the hunter, accidently caught in a snared rope, could no longer threaten us. With a last snarl at she who had ruined both our families, Mother carried me away in her arms, to the gorilla's new nesting grounds.

I can only imagine the reactions of the rest of the family when they first saw me. As I grew older, I would have to put up with many critical whispers and distrustful stares; I must have had it even worse when I arrived, luckily still too young to take any notice of it.

Of all the family, Kerchak was the least impressed. All my life, I never understood why he seemed to disapprove of me so much. It was only far later, when I learned that I had taken the place of his son, that I fully realized how he must have felt - no wonder he hated me so much. That aside, he had no idea what I was; nor did Kala, or any of the apes. For all he knew, I could have grown up into a leopard - or something worse - that would someday threaten them all.

I suppose that, in some way, he was right.

From the moment he saw me, Kerchak wanted nothing to do with me. But he loved Kala; I seemed to make her happy, and he knew that she could not bear to leave me in the jungle alone, to surely die. So he allowed me to stay; but I was never regarded as one of the family, in his eyes at least.

Other members of the family were a little more accepting. My cousin, Terkina - known by all of us as Terk - at least found me entertaining. When I first arrived, like the other gorillas, she didn't think much of my looks. However, unlike the other gorillas, she wasn't overawed by my strange appearance. Her mother, Keri, is my mother's sister, so to her I was always just 'Aunty Kala's freaky-looking kid'. When we were both very young, I think she only had anything to do with me because Aunty Keri told her she had to be nice to me. As we got older, we were drawn together more and more. Terk has always been a rough and tumble girl, more like one of the boys than a 'proper' female. When we were little, none of us took any notice of it; but as we got older, the boys started leaving her out of their fighting games, and she didn't want to sit around grooming all day with the other girls (not that they would let her join in). Since both of us were outsiders, we would hang out together a lot, wrestling and playing tricks on each other, or anyone else who was around (except Kerchak). At first, Flynt and Mungo would play with us as well, but they started to have less to do us. This could be because they are twins, and prefer their own company to any other. Also, after a certain incident down at the river, Mother warned me to keep away from them, and they started avoiding me. I guess that their mother had told them I was a bad influence, just as mine had told me about them.

That same incident at the waterhole did, however, bring us a new friend. Usually, different species in the jungle don't have much to do with each other. Gorillas might occasionally chat with baboons and mandrills, if they have gossip worth sharing; but they associate with other beasts, like rhinos or hippos, far less. We didn't know any of the elephants very well back then - not until we became friends with Tantor. I guess he was a bit of a misfit as well; unlike others of his kind, he hates mud, and will never eat a berry without washing it first. For such a strong and powerful animal, he is very cautious, but he can be very courageous when he needs to be. Growing up, Terk and Tantor were my best friends - they still are, to this day.

I needed every friend I could get back then. Since Kerchak had allowed me to stay, the rest of the family had more or less accepted me; but they also knew how much he resented my presence, so they kept their distance. It was often a very lonely, frustrating childhood. I tried my best to fit in, but it never seemed to be enough. It didn't help that I looked so different from the others.

I'll never forget how, in a particularly low moment, I sat gazing at my appearance, reflected back at me in the surface of a stream. It was only then that I realized how hideous I looked: so pale, so hairless, with a snub nose, wide mouth, spindly legs, and blunt teeth. I looked more like some kind of scrawny, sun-bleached lizard than an ape; and even most lizards had better fangs than I did.

I might have lost heart and given up on myself, if not for my mother. No matter how much I despaired of ever fitting in, she never gave up on me. When I felt rejected and hurt, she would tell me to look away from my reflection, to forget what everyone else could see. Making me close my eyes, she would have me touch my chest, feeling the beat of my own heart; then she would let me press my ear to her breast, listening to hers beat in time.

"We are just the same," she would say, taking my hands in hers. It's true that while my hands were white and hairless, hers were dark and beautifully furred; yet they were made in the same shape, and touched with the same gesture. It was as though our joined hands forged the bond that already lay between our hearts; it strengthen it, soothing away any doubts I had about belonging. I belonged with her, and that was all that mattered. I never felt anything but loved by her. Through all those long, hard years, she was all the family I had, and all I ever needed. All the best memories I have from that time are of her.

I do not think I can remember anything about my birth-parents; although, sometimes, I wonder. Years later, when Kala took me back to the tree house and explained where I came from, I picked up the small blanket I had once used, still lying where it had lain for twenty years, protected from jungle rot by the high sides of my cradle. For some reason, I was immediately drawn to it; I do not know what prompted me to take hold of it. Looking at its colour, breathing in its smell, feeling its texture between my fingers, something welled up inside of me. The exact same thing happens, sometimes, when my wife ruffles my hair. Members of my ape family have groomed what fur I have a thousand times over; but somehow, it is never quite the same as when she does it. It feels as though she has done it before, a long time ago, though that is not possible. Perhaps I am remembering how my mother did it, without even realizing.

Whenever I feel something like that, I find it very strange. It is almost like a memory, yet I cannot grasp the exact image. It is like a glimpse of something at the bottom of a pool, but the water's surface will not clear, obscured by too many ripples.

My wife has explained to me that this feeling is called 'deja vu'. At first the sensation of it worried me; I was troubled that I could not recall whatever it was, no matter how I tried. When it happens to me now, it still tends to surprise me; but I am growing used to it. It makes me feel as though my parents are still here, watching over me. I am glad that, in some small way, I can feel close to them.

* * *

><p><span>Editor:<span>

I would humbly contribute a few additional anecdotes, if I may.

(1) By special arrangement with the Oxford board of studies, I was allowed to have my own private laboratory within my house, in order to be close to my ailing wife as much as possible.

(2) In my defence, I came to believe Jane's words very quickly, as you will find out further through this recollection. Admittedly, her story seemed so far-fetched, it was a little hard to take at first. But I am a scientist, and empirical evidence always trumps even the most persistent doubt. Besides all that, my dear girl sells herself short; she inherited all her mother's creativity in abundance. She certainly didn't inherit any from me; for anything beyond a rudimentary diagram of the basal rosette on a _dionaea muscipula_, my artistic talents are strictly limited to stick figures.

(3) The thought pains me very much as well, Janey dear - though unlike you, I could have done something to make it otherwise, wish to God that I had. We had been aware of the seriousness of my wife's condition for some time, though I had no idea that her illness would run its course in such an abrupt and untimely fashion. I suppose that because she had outlived every specialist's prediction, I became complacent; it really started to seem as though she would just keep going, growing old alongside me, remaining for Janey's sake. Unfortunately, such things were quite out of our control. I confess that though I was certainly present in the house for all that time, I was largely an absent husband and father; I selfishly gave my work first priority, when my family should have always come before it. I hope that readers will not think me too callous upon reading this account, nor judge poor Jane for her girlish sentiments. She is too harsh on herself; we purposely kept such things from her, so as not to worry her. It was Annabelle's greatest wish that Jane should not live in the shadow of her illness, as she herself had to. She was the bravest, strongest, most remarkable woman I have ever had the pleasure to have known. My dear Janey is so very like her, in so many ways.

(4) When I first read the word 'Greystoke' among the papers that belonged to Tarzan's parents, I seemed to recall the name as being that of a wealthy peerage who most generously donated a substantial grant to the Faculty of Sociology some years ago, before Jane was born. It is likely, however, that I am mistaken; without access to the university's archives, I cannot verify my supposition, and when it comes to anything besides the phylum of the _homindae homininae_, my ability to remember names is not the finest. Since Tarzan has expressed no desire to learn more about his human ancestry, we must respect his wishes; to us, he will always simply be 'Tarzan of the Apes'.

(5) In fact, prevalent research theory suggests that gorillas are the most closely-related species that humans have on this earth; only chimpanzees, particularly the _pan paniscus_, or bonobo, perhaps resembles _homo sapiens_ slightly more. The comparative anatomy of humans and gorillas is strikingly similar, particularly in the development of their respective pentadactyl limbs. Gorillas are also thought to possess senses of hearing, sight and smell that are comparable with human levels. Physicality aside, gorillas are remarkably intelligent, with various cultural conventions and social structures which correspond with ours. But I am likely boring my readers; perhaps these scintillating examples would be better relegated to the paper I am planning to submit at the next primatology conference.

(6) According to a recent paper by a leading pantherologist, of the 92 jungle animals that leopards are known to prey upon, their second most-preferable species on which to dine are primates, surpassed only by ungulates as an ideal source of sustenance. Past case studies have shown that leopards are opportunistic hunters; therefore, I would surmise that Kala and Tarzan were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever the reason for Sabor's rampage, I am extremely sorry that John and Alice perished - while equally elated that Tarzan and Kala survived.

- A.Q.P.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note:<em>

_(7) Not a footnote, just a few things to add : )_

_Pretty much all of Jane's back story was invented by me, with a few exceptions. In the_ 'Legend of Tarzan' _episode '_Tublat's Revenge_', Jane draws a portrait of her mother; she is wearing a hat that called Eliza Doolittle to my mind, so I gave her the milliner's profession, just to make things interesting. In the_ 'Flying Ace' ep, _Jane's former neighbour Robbie Canler, who lived next door to her in Knightsbridge, is introduced. I'm really keen to tackle the aftermath of Canler's appearance in the tv series; however, that won't be for many chapters to come. __Then, in the 'Lost Cub' episode, Jane mentions that she was 'quite the diver at finishing school'. She demonstrates this by doing a spectacular dive off a cliff into a lagoon, with Tarzan evaluating her effort as 'very nice' (where have we heard that before?). And, in the episode '_Giant Beetles'_, Jane refers to her mother as 'Mumsy'; a habit I incorporated into my version. _

_In the '_All-Seeing Elephant_' ep, Mount Indigo is mentioned as the titular character's home; I also made it the site of the leopards' dens (these are seen in the '_Lost Cub_' episode, and the '_Valley of the Leopards_' features prominently in the '_Lost Treasure_' ep; these could all be the same place)._

_The names of the Fuwalda ship, and Tarzan's parents, are taken directly from the original _Tarzan_ novel by Edgar Rice-Burroughs. Since their original surname of 'Clayton' was given to- well, Clayton, I omitted it from this retelling, making Greystoke their family name (though Tarzan doesn't know that). Since the name of Tarzan's son in the later novels was 'Korak', I decided I'd give Kerchak and Kala's son the same name; I thought the Disney character might eventually name his own child after the foster-brother he never knew. I elaborated on the scene where Tarzan looks at his reflection, taking some of it from the novel; in the Rice-Burroughs version, he thinks he looks ugly, like some sort of snake (poor thing!)._

_I probably won't include anything else from the Rice-Burroughs novels in this story; the Disney version is different, so mine will be different, too. Also, I haven't read the first novel (or any of them) all the way through; just enough to serve as research for this story. To tell the truth, I prefer the Disney interpretation of the character (sorry!)._

_The Professor's footnotes are hard to write. Lots of fancy Latin names, lots of Googling to find the ones I need. However, all the things I wrote for him are correct, as far as I know - trying to be a bit educational, in the spirit of the source material!_

_I'm not sure what will happen in the next chapter. Obviously, an account of Tarzan and Jane's adolescence should follow; I also want to include something written from Terk's and Tantor's points of view (to the reviewer who asked me to write about Tarzan and Terk's first meeting: Tarzan was too young to remember it, so I thought I'd write it from Terk's perspective). One of those options will be up next - I guess we'll both be surprised by which it is! _

_Also, if you like this fic, please consider following it so you don't miss an update - I'll try to add chapters whenever I can, but I won't be able to keep up this pace for long (I'm good at starting fics, bad at finishing them, I'm afraid). Each chapter could potentially be as long as this one, and with the film, plus 39 tv episodes, I potentially have a lot to get through! _

_Thanks for reading!_

_~ W.J._

_**Edit:** forgot to mention, I wanted to give Professor Porter a taste of Africa in his youth, to serve as inspiration for his career and explain why he and Jane later made the journey. In the original novels, Porter had been ordained in his youth (thus allowing him to officiate at Jane and Tarzan's wedding), so I thought he might serve in the army/navy in some theological capacity, taking him overseas. I researched British activity in Africa during the Victorian period, and decided to make him part of Theophilus Shepstone's party, during his negotiations with the Zulu people near Port Natal._


	4. Education

**Education**

* * *

><p><em>Our home became an entirely different<em> place after Mumsy left us.

The inner workings of the household were still much the same - Daddy was busy in his study; I loitered about in the parlour or my own room, much as I would any other holiday - and yet, some undeniable change had come over us. The entire place seemed suddenly far too empty, too quiet. My mother hadn't exactly been a loud, dominating presence; yet we felt her absence so very keenly. For months afterwards, I couldn't bear to walk past her old rooms, looking in to see her bed and the sofa still there, but without her in them. I think Daddy locked himself away in his study for much the same reason(1). I was lucky that I returned to school shortly after it happened, and so could escape it, in some respect; but he had to remain in that empty house all on his own, quite literally dwelling over her death.

Her passing greatly affected us, as one would expect. We were both grieving her, each in our own way.

I am still not entirely sure what I did during those long, insufferable days immediately afterwards. It seemed to take a huge effort just to get out of bed each day, faced with a world that no longer had her in it. Those dreary hours seemed to stretch on forever, and I had little with which to fill them. I couldn't bring myself to sketch, though it had once been my favourite pastime; holding a pencil reminded me too much of her. Sewing had a similar effect; I put aside the petticoat to which I had been re-attaching a lace insert after just one stitch, no longer up to the task. Reading was also quite impossible; not when I so vividly recalled how she used to read aloud to me.

Mostly, I did nothing more than mope. I can vaguely remember sitting somewhere or other in the house, doing nothing in particular, simply staring into space, while my thoughts returned persistently to her. And to Daddy.

Mumsy used to joke that Daddy was married to his work first, and her second. Well, without her to impede his devotions any longer, he seemed to attach himself to his studies with renewed fervour. At least, that was what I initially thought, until I decided to linger outside his room, peeping at him through the partly-closed door. Unnoticed by him, I watched as he read the exact same page of his biophysical dissertation for half an hour without pause, blots of ink dripping from the nib of his pen from time to time, barely so much as making the effort to blink. Only then did I realize that he must have been feeling much the same way as I did(2).

Mealtimes became maddeningly tedious, least of all because neither of us had much appetite left. These were the only times - always had been - when we really, properly saw each other face to face; yet now, we couldn't seem to find a single thing to say to one another. I would ask whether his work was going well, he would answer in the affirmative; and then we would both lapse back into silence, staring at our half-untouched plates in awkward companionship.

At such times, I couldn't quite bring myself to directly comment on it. To do so would have meant dredging up his sadness for closer inspection, while also admitting the emotional pain I was having to endure. So we became caught in this ludicrous cycle of denial and evasion, each of us skirting the issue to spare each other - and ourselves - from additional anguish. All the while, our shared sorrow went unspoken, looming like the proverbial elephant in the room(3).

I shall never forget what it was like, having to say good-bye to him as I made my way back to school.

We had been standing on the platform in customary silence for quite some time, having haltingly made our farewells to one another. At the very last moment before I boarded the train, just as I was half-turning to go, he suddenly clasped my hand in his. With his other, he reached out as though to chuck me under the chin, as he used to when I was very small; but then he dropped the gesture, as though he had instantaneously forgotten how to do it. He murmured out one last good-bye to me, turning a little to one side; and in the grimy, ill-lit atmosphere of the station, his eyes looked far too overly bright.

I would have run to him then and hugged him, promised to never leave him as my mother had been left; to care for him always, as she should have been cared for, until the very end. But by then the whistle was blowing, a well-meaning conductor was hustling me to my compartment. Before I knew it, I was rushing away from him, watching as his figure swiftly dwindled into the distance.

Between this memory, and that of bidding farewell to my mother the last time before she died, I have come to hate having to say good-byes of any kind.

Had he ever looked so small, so lost and forlorn, as he did that day as he stood all alone on the platform, gazing after me? He seemed to have diminished somehow, sunken into himself, as though he were withering beneath the weight of his grief. That last glimpse I had of him struck at my heart, already so sore with recent loss and worry. Tears sprang to my eyes, though I was far too old to cry over something as commonplace as leaving for school. _This_ leaving felt like something far more than just that.

I was leaving behind the last, most precious thing that I owned in all the world - the last of my family. I had lost one parent, and felt as though I was on the verge of losing another.

I brooded over it for the rest of the journey. Long before it was over, I had adamantly made up my mind that I wouldn't let it happen - I wouldn't lose him as well. Mumsy might have lost him years ago, if her family had stopped her marriage; but she had done something about it, made it work, in spite of the resistance she had faced. I was determined that I would do the same. Though Mumsy was gone, I was still very much her daughter, always would be. She wouldn't let a thing like this get a hold on us, and neither would I. If our family was broken, then it was just up to me to fix it - for Daddy's sake, and Mumsy's, and for mine.

All along that trip to school, I was lost deep in thought, scheming up ways to bridge this gaping chasm that had opened between Daddy and I.

I might have worried about the reception that I would have when I got back, if I had not been so otherwise preoccupied. The other girls had been told about my predicament, if reactions were any judge. While there were a few pitying glances in hallways and awkward pauses in conversations, mostly they were nothing short of sympathetic.

In particular, the three classmates that I roomed with made it their mission to comfort me in my pitiable prostration. I believe Eleanor put them up to it; she has always been the most decisive of the four of us. Besides sharing our dormitory between us, we otherwise hadn't really had much to do with one another. We each had our own interests; and since I wasn't one to join in on their gossip, I had been mostly excluded from their circle, with mutual consent. Now, the circle opened for me, and I found myself encompassed by it, to an almost smothering degree.

Everywhere I went, I had Eleanor barking orders at me like a drill sergeant. She made sure that my stockings were always on straight before I sallied forth; that my hair was neatly brushed and pinned, to her exacting standards; and that I had completed our assigned French exercises well before our next lesson. My second roommate, Greenly, very kindly offered to press all my crumpled blouses for me, and to mend the split seam in my gloves; she even volunteered the use of her new handkerchiefs, which had real Valenciennes lace in their borders and cost nearly twenty shillings per box, should I ever feel the need to cry into one. As for Hazel - well, if salacious gossip has restorative powers, she must be a miracle healer. My mind did not have time to dwell upon my misfortune; not whilst she regaled me with the most outrageous stories of her attractive cousins, whom she had visited during her vacation and, she assured me, were all quite eligible.

Though their collective concern for me was a little intrusive, it was very much well-intended. After a week or so of such treatment, they realized that I was not quite as bereft as they had thought me to be, and so eased in their care - though not in their friendship. Even now, with our school days long past us, we are still wonderfully close - only figuratively, unfortunately, since they are all in England, while I am half a world away. But we exchange letters often, and they have come to visit us here in Africa a few times.

Much as I appreciated their company, I was more than a little distracted at the time. In fact, I was always looking for a means of seeking out solitude - for a very good cause. Upon my return to school, I had formulated a mission of my own: I had decided to turn my naturally inquisitive temperament towards a single object. Before, I had applied myself to acquiring all - or any - new accomplishments that I could, with no fixed purpose in mind. Now, everything that I did was focused upon but one intention: to somehow reach through to my estranged father.

During the train ride from London, I had devised an ingenious plan. For as long as I could remember, the quickest, most effective way to attract Daddy's attention had always been to talk to him about his work. Even when I ceaselessly interrupted his endeavours as a child, he always seemed pleased by my apparent interest. He was happy to take the time to educate me on the fascinating eating habits of the pangolin, or the singularly dance-like movements of the manakin bird. Once, he even began to describe to me the mating rituals of the rhinoceros beetle, until Mumsy pointed out to him that perhaps I was still a little too young to learn of such things yet.

The zoological world had always intrigued me greatly - the silver-backed gorilla I had requested for my fifth birthday was evidence enough of that. Perhaps I was simply attracted to it because it had always been Daddy's foremost passion; one couldn't help but feel that his enthusiasm was infectious. I had not seen him like that in a long time - eyes shining, hands gesturing frenetically as he spoke, bending and swaying gently as he mimicked the climbing techniques of the black-furred gibbon. The 'Daddy' whom I had left in Knightsbridge was apathetic and listless, having lost all interest in life - besides the one that we had lost. I wanted to remind him, educate him again on all the wonders of the natural world; much as he, in turn, had always regaled and fascinated me.

I began to make frequent visits to the library, foregoing all other club activities to make time for my additional studies. If my teachers and classmates noticed my withdrawal from the social side of school life, they did not comment on it; though they sometimes made wondering little glances in my direction as they watched me pass them by, arms laden with books. Little did they know that I was entering a new, expansively rich, diverse and fantastical life - that of an aspiring naturalist.

I started to learn in earnest, and soon began to get a feel for my work. I read one book after another, rapidly finishing one tome, only to instantly replace it with another. Once I had begun, my thirst for knowledge was voracious - a fact that surprised even myself. What had initially been only a means to an end fast became an obsession of my own. I realized then why Daddy was so interested in the animal kingdom, why it inspired him so. I never tired of discovering some new marvel - finding out yet another riveting fact about our furred or winged, scaled or finned neighbours of the zoological world.

I tried my best to avoid attracting remarks with my specialist hobby, though I did not always succeed in doing so. Once, Hazel caught me reading a diagram-filled book on the siamang, and asked if I was sizing up prospective husbands. I began hiding my reading material among Greenly's piles of pithy romances, though it caused me some embarrassment when I mistook her copy of _'The Savage-Born Suitor'_ for one of my own books. In hindsight, it may have made for an instructive read(4).

Thus armed with a veritable cornucopia of scientific minutia, I awaited the coming holidays with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

I had put such effort into accumulating a knowledge of animal attributes which, though it hardly rivalled that of my father, at least was not so ludicrously shallow by comparison. And yet, what if it wasn't enough? What if we still couldn't bear to talk to one another, were never able to ever again?

I was both anxious to return home, and apprehensive at what I might find there.

I almost didn't recognize Daddy when he came to meet me at the station. His hair, which had once had only a faint scattering of grey, had by now turned completely white, and he walked with a stoop which I did not recall ever seeing him with before. He looked more than once at me as well, so I suspect I must have also changed somewhat during the short interim for which we were apart(5).

The atmosphere at home seemed just as dreadful as it had been when I had left; the rooms were still just as cheerless, my mother's still just as empty. And Daddy was much the same as he had been before, if not even worse. I do not think that he had been properly mindful enough to take care of himself; if it weren't for faithful Miriam, continuing to run household matters and reminding him to take his meals, I think he would have wasted away to nothing while I was gone.

Looking at the task that lay ahead of me, I was more than a little daunted. But I knew I at least had to try. There was too much at stake for me to be a nervous Nellie right then. If I, his own daughter, couldn't bring Daddy back from the place he was in, then surely no one else possibly could.

On my first night back at home, I sat down to the evening meal with clammy palms, having to hide my shaking knees beneath the tablecloth. Daddy didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary; he was staring blankly at his soup, occasionally fiddling with his napkin in what was now his usual, abstracted sort of manner.

Thinking that I might as well try my luck and get it over with, I nervously cleared my throat. "How is your work going, Daddy?" I asked him, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible. I picked up my spoon and stirred my soup with it, at least making some sort of pretence at eating, though I doubt I could have managed a mouthful at all. It was a very simple question, one that I had asked at least a thousand times in the past; yet so much seemed to be riding on the answer, and what would come after it.

Daddy barely raised his head to look at me, bent over his plate. "Oh, it's going as well as could be expected, I suppose. Purely a theoretical study. Nothing that would interest you."

This was where our conversations usually petered out. Well, not this time. I took a deep breath, and plunged onward.

"Try me."

His spoon clattered against the side of his dish, startling me; his head shot up in surprise. "Pardon?" he said, as though I had uttered something outrageously unexpected.

"Try me," I repeated, quietly pleased at having elicited such a reaction; he was at least a bit livelier now than he had been of late. "I'd like to hear all about it, if you don't mind telling me."

"Oh." He set his spoon down with a slight fumble. He didn't seem to know where to begin, or what to say; he had obviously been shut up in his study, on his own, for quite too long, and was no longer accustomed to talking to other people. I tried my best to look encouraging, though my own heart was pounding furiously. "Well," he began, a little uncertainly, "at the moment, I am focusing on the comparative physiological similarities that exist between _homo sapiens_ and _homininae mangani_.(6)"

I had been waiting for his reply with bated breath. I was terrified that he would name some exotic species of which I was wholly ignorant; to my relief and elation, I instantly seized upon words that I recognized. This was just what all my extra-curricular readings had prepared me for: I was about to put what I learned to good use.

"_Homininae mangani_?" I said, trying not to let my eagerness show. "How fascinating. You mean the true _mangani_, and not the _pan paniscus_? Both are remarkably similar to _homo sapiens_, though some theorists believe the _pongo pygmaeus_ to be equally similar, if not perhaps even more so."

I was aware that by now, Daddy was staring at me - absolutely goggling, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. His elbow had knocked his butter knife off the table with a loud clatter, but he didn't even notice. To look at his shocked expression would have put me off too much to be able to continue, so I instead directed the rest of my soliloquy to the wallpaper over his left shoulder, hoping all the while that I didn't mangle the Latin pronunciation too much.

"Of course, a lot of primates very closely resemble us. With hominoids, the similarities are barely superficial; but in hominine, the resemblance is far more distinct. Of course, they are not the only ones to whom we are somewhat alike; practically all mammals have pentadactyl limbs, many of them with opposable digits as well, after all. Yet it is staggering, isn't it, how much more our own ancestors and those of the apes must have had in common. To think that we are only one sub-genus removed from one another, both classified beneath the same _hominidae_ family-"

I stopped short right there.

Partway through my speech, I had become increasingly anxious and started to ramble, becoming lost in the content of the myriad scientific journals I had read during the semester. But that one word abruptly brought me back to my senses. I realized all at once where I was, what I was saying, and who I said it to. That word, that 'f' word, was one of the few that I couldn't afford to pronounce, there and then, with our own family still so irretrievably broken.

As soon as I uttered it, I was aghast at the thoughtless spectacle I had made of myself. I glanced warily at Daddy, terrified of what effect my ramblings may have had on him. He was still staring at me, but now his expression was more or less thunderstruck; I don't think I could have shocked him any more if I had started to speak in tongues(7).

There was a frightfully long pause, during which we sat staring at one other. I both half-hoped, and half-dreaded, that he would break the silence first. He did indeed - and when he did, it was in the most wonderful, utterly marvellous, simply _splendid_ way that he possibly could.

As I watched, his eyes slowly crinkled in the corners, just as I remembered them doing, in times that now seemed so long ago. He actually smiled a little, though he appeared misty-eyed, and he said to me: "Oh, Janey dear, I _do_ love you."

My soup dish ended up on the floor. That was certainly where Miriam found it later, when she came out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. I must have knocked it as I thrust my chair back, flew around the table, and flung myself on him to embrace him, sobbing piteously against his shoulder.

He very kindly patted me on the back, murmuring gentle assurances. He used to comfort me just the same way when I was a child; I remember him doing it when I came in with torn stockings and two skinned knees, having scaled the chestnut tree outside our house rather less gracefully than a tamarin; or when I woke to nightmares of stalking leopards in the middle of the night, sure that I could hear their growls coming from behind the airing cupboard. I recognized in the feel of his arms around me, in his loving words and doting care, all the parental tenderness that had made my childhood such a happy one.

He had come back to me, at last. That same sad, sombre man who had inhabited my father's study for the past few months had become my Daddy again.

When I finally mastered myself enough to draw away from him, I saw that his face was wet as well. We were both able to laugh a little through our tears, as we realized how foolish we must both look. We didn't really care a wit about that - I know I didn't. I was too pleased to care whether I was buttoned up backwards or dipped in lampblack. Daddy was looking directly at me, for the first time in a long while; we were speaking to one another beyond half-sentences, like a proper father and daughter should.

We almost felt like a proper family again - or, at least, part of one. What was left of a very, very good one.

Somehow, we managed to make it through the rest of the meal. Afterwards, we went to the parlour and had a long, proper talk about things. Daddy wanted to know where I had learned about _homininae mangani_, _pan paniscus_, and all the rest. I told him about my self-imposed reading program. I think it impressed him, and puzzled him more than a little.

"You bothered to learn all of that, just for my sake?" he asked me, in disbelief.

"Yes," I told him, voice quavering, hardly able to contain my thankfulness at finally having him back. "And Daddy, you were worth every single page. Besides," I added, truthfully, "I enjoyed reading it. Very much so. I like learning about these things - almost as much as you, I dare say."

He chuckled a little at that, though he dropped his eyes for a moment. After a brief interlude, he looked at me again, taking my hand as he did so. "Jane, dear," he said, "I am a very selfish man. I admit, I have always loved my work a little too much; but there is no way that I could possibly love it any more than I do you. Nor any more than... than your mother..."

He trailed off. We were both quiet for some time.

Thinking of her still hurt. Not quite as unbearably as it had before; but there was still a strong, steady ache in my heart, in the place where she should have been. To be honest, that feeling never quite went away. I learned to deal with it, in time; we helped each other to heal from it. At least, after this incident, we could bear to see, speak, and think of each other, without her memory always coming to taint it with sorrow. We still certainly felt sadness at her passing; but we could now also feel joy in each other's company, as we used to(8).

I could feel that some kind of positive change had come over us; I think Daddy must have felt it, too. After a brief pause, he continued.

"On occasion, I managed to forget that - or at least, I forget that I should show it to you both. I realized it too late, for her sake; and then almost forgot it again, where you are concerned."

He sighed deeply, his face a study in self-reproach. "I'm afraid I haven't been a very good father, Janey; nor a very good man. I was too caught up in my own affairs to pay any consideration to you." He gently squeezed my hand, gazing steadily into my face, with a sad smile. "I won't forget it again, dear; I promise you that. I should have done more for you these past months, when you must have been feeling just dreadful, as I did. Instead, you were the one busily thinking about me. You are a far better parent than I am."

My voice was thick, and my cheeks were wet, as I replied. "No, Daddy. No one is a better parent than you - not now, not ever."

I hugged him again; I couldn't help it. I wanted him to feel how much I meant what I said.

It felt good to have talked things over, though it was still a little painful to speak of such things. It was cathartic; we both needed to get it out. Now that we had, we could get on with life again. And we would do it side by side - of that I was certain.

With the solemn part of our conversation done with, Daddy seemed ready for a bit of levity. "Do you mean to say," he said, with a touch of incredulousness, "that you learned all these zoological facts just to humour me?"

"To humour you," I admitted, with a laugh, "and to entertain myself. I really do find it interesting, Daddy. It's all so-" I struggled to find the word, gesturing vainly in the air as I sought one grand enough to suit. "It's all-encompassing!" I finally decided, making him chuckle knowingly in response. "It is absolutely staggering, all the things we know about the natural world - how the various species developed, how they live, how they think and behave. It's astounding, what we know - rivalled only by how much more we still have yet to find out!"

Daddy looked at me curiously, pondering my words. "Do you know," he said at last, "I remember thinking much the same thing as I was looking at the maps of meerkat burrows that a colleague just recently sent for my perusal. Dr Channing spent many months in Africa, carefully documenting the layout of their burrows, recording their building methods and nesting habits." Now he really was the Daddy of old, whom I remembered so well; his eyes were bright, filled with wonderment, and he drew diagrams in the air for me as he spoke. "You should see the extent of it - how industrious they are, to create such structures! Why, they must have built the meerkat equivalent of Buckingham Palace!"

I was laughing heartily at this, lost in his description; when I realized that he was closely watching me, searching my face. He was perhaps trying to decide whether I was merely listening to be polite, which I most certainly wasn't; or if I was genuinely interested, which I most definitely was.

"Perhaps," he said, almost a little shyly, "you would like to come to my study and... see the chart that he sent me, for yourself...?"

I had never felt so close to him, so completely a part of his world, as I did then. Whatever barriers had lain between us for all this time, they certainly were not standing any longer.

"I would love to, Daddy," I said. "More than anything."

And so began my illustrious tenure as Daddy's research assistant. The position was all but made official that night. First, however, I still had a bit of finishing school left to complete. Once that was done with, I would be ready to embark, alongside him, upon the adventure of a lifetime - though at that moment, I hadn't the foggiest idea of what direction my life would take, from that moment on.

* * *

><p><strong>I was born weak, and for<strong> the longest time, I stayed weak.

From the time that they are born, young gorillas instinctively know to cling to their mothers' fur, riding on their backs as they climb from branch to branch together. My mother thought that I would know this, too. Soon after she found me, she tried to place me on her shoulder, as she would her own child. I didn't know to latch on, and fell off almost straight away. She caught me before I fell and got hurt, but I started to cry, and wouldn't stop until she comforted me.

From this, she realized that she couldn't raise me as she would another ape. She was adaptive, and very patient; she learned to carry me, safely cradled in the crook of her arm. I realize that this must have made walking, climbing, and foraging for food very difficult for her, having only one free hand besides the one that held me. But she tells me that it was never a bother. To her, I was worth it.

My wife says that it is normal for human children to be completely helpless when they are so young; anything else would be out of the ordinary. But as a gorilla, to be so dependent on my mother made me lower than even the youngest newborn. From the time I arrived, I was an utter failure.

Later, I did learn to hold onto Mother's back, just as any ape-child would. By the time I was five years old, I could pull myself up into trees, scale vines, and balance on branches without her help. But I started late, and for many years, I remained behind the other apes my age.

To those reading this, it may seem ridiculous that I could possibly believe myself to be a gorilla, when the differences between me and them were so obvious. Please realize that, at this point in my life, I had never seen another human before. None of the apes had seen one either, except for my mother. I didn't know that she had found me and brought me into the family; I always thought that I was hers. It seemed natural to me that since Mother was an ape, and I was her son, I must be an ape as well. But I was the most peculiar ape that I, or any of the family, had ever seen.

There wasn't a day that went by when I didn't know that I was different. Even my name set me apart: Tarzan. In the language of the apes, 'tar' means white, and 'zan' is skin. Every time someone called me by my name, they were telling me again how strange I looked. If I somehow managed to forget it, Kerchak was always there to remind me. Every time he saw me, he would only scowl at me. I tried not to annoy him, stay out of his way; but I never knew what I had done wrong, to make him hate me so much. I seemed to bother him just by existing.

He wasn't the only one that I irritated. When I tried to join in the games of the apes my age, they didn't want me. They were quickly growing, learning the skills of the adults; they wanted to leap and play, show off what they could do. They didn't want a hairless, stick-thin, weak-fisted slowpoke like me following them around. I tried everything to be like them, fit in with them, get them to treat me just the same. Nothing seemed to work. For the longest time, I was slower than them, weaker than them, and would always look so different. I tried to convince them that I was related to Mangani the Silver Ape, or to the Zugor(9), in an effort to impress them and explain how I looked; but since Terk could push me down in the dirt whenever she wanted, they didn't believe me.

Of all the apes my age, Terk was the nicest to me. But even she was embarrassed by me, though she never told me to my face. She knew that if she upset me, Mother would find out, and then Aunty Keri would scold her. Instead, she would brush me aside, make excuses for why I couldn't join in, while her friends complained that the 'hairless wonder' was taking up their time.

Previously, I referred to the 'incident at the river' several times. Jane and the Professor have both asked me about it. I wasn't going to mention it, but I guess I really should offer some explanation.

That day, Mungo and Flynt had invited Terk down to the river to play. She told me I couldn't come with them because I couldn't keep up, but I managed to tag along. As usual, Mungo and Flynt weren't happy to see me. As my cousin, Terk wasn't allowed to hurt my feelings; but since they didn't have to face Mother or Aunty Keri, they had no reason to spare me.

As always, Terk got caught in the middle. She knew she had to get rid of me to keep her friends happy, but she had to somehow do it without upsetting me too much. She had gotten very good at it. Once, she told me that we were playing hide-and-seek, with me hiding while everybody else seeked. By the time I realized that they weren't coming to find me, they had gone to throw mud at the warthogs (a game that is still Terk's favourite; the warthogs seem to enjoy it too). Another time, she told me I could only hang around with them if I got a rainbow feather from a lorikeet. I spent all day crawling around the base of their nests, looking for such a feather. When I finally gave up, Mother explained to me that lorikeets have many feathers in single colours, which makes them look rainbow all over.

This time, Terk really out-did herself. She told me that before I was allowed to play with them, I had to get a hair from an elephant.

She has since told me that she never expected me to actually try to get it. I guess that even then, I thought differently to most jungle creatures, and even most men. I wasn't daunted by things that would seem difficult to anyone else. Everything about living in the jungle is dangerous, in some small way. And yet, there were some things that young apes like Terk and the twins didn't have to worry about: fitting in, finding someone to play with, or just crossing paths with Kerchak without him glaring at them. For me, everything was hard - even the simplest things, things that the others took for granted. I just came to accept that nothing I did was ever going to be easy. That didn't necessarily mean that a thing couldn't be done; I just had to try harder than everyone else before I could manage to do it. Getting an elephant hair sounded hard, but since Terk and the others must have done it already, I could probably do it too, if I tried hard enough.

I _did_ do it. But in doing so, I panicked the elephants, almost got myself killed, and sent the herd stampeding towards the termite mounds where the family were feeding. Many gorillas very nearly got trampled, and their lunch was destroyed.

I got the hair, and as an added prize, I made friends with Tantor that day. But I had endangered the family - something that, to Kerchak, was unforgivable. He was so mad when he found out what had happened. I couldn't let Terk take the blame; it was my fault for trying to do what she had told me. Besides, Kerchak already hated me, so it was no big deal if I got in trouble again.

Even so, I'll never forget what he said. For what must have been the hundredth time, Mother begged him to forgive me, to give me a chance; but he had no chances to give me, never had. His mind had long since been made up about me. In his anger, he said that I would never be one of the family.

His words hurt me more than anything else. I knew that he had never liked me, but hearing him say such a thing out loud was worse than anything else that could be done to me. Yet I didn't begrudge him his words - what I had done was wrong. However much he despised me, I was even more disappointed in myself.

Mother had tried so hard to get him to accept me, and I had let her down.

As always, she came to comfort me. She knew exactly what to do and say to make me feel better. As long as she still loved me and accepted me into her heart, nothing else really mattered.

Still, I wanted to do something to make her happy. I decided there and then that I would prove to Kerchak that she was right about me. If he thought I couldn't be an ape, I would just have to become the best ape ever, so that even he would have to admit that I _did_ belong. I wanted his approval, wanted to be part of the family. More than anything, I wanted Mother to be proud of me. I became determined to do it - more so than I had ever been about anything before.

During the incident at the river, I had learned one valuable lesson: that I could swim.

I found out more or less by accident; though it's just as well I did, or it would have ended very badly for me. In order to get the elephant's hair, I dove off a cliff (with a beginner's technique) into the river below. The impact as I hit the water stunned me. Once I got my bearings, I realized that I was underwater, and face-to-face with a hippo. As it began treading water alongside me, I started to imitate it, and so was able to make it back to the surface. By paddling with my arms and legs - limbs that had seemed so flimsy, in my hopeless attempts to climb as fast as the others - I was somehow able to keep myself afloat. Not only could I do it: after some practice, I became good at it. The others were a little in awe of me after that, as most gorillas cannot swim. No one else in the family(10) could do this - not even Kerchak.

After this, an idea occurred to me: if I could swim like a hippo, maybe there were more things I could do that none of the apes could, but other creatures were able to. I began to teach myself, and to learn from those around me.

Jane and the Professor say that, as scientists, they learn about things much the same way as I do - whereas they observe and document, I observe and imitate.

I learned to hang upside-down from branches and vines like a chameleon (and to choose a sturdy perch to cling to, after I fell and landed on a bunch of bananas that the family had been about to enjoy). Once, I saw a rhino sharpening his horn against a tree, scraping it hard enough to strip the bark. I found I could do much the same thing, with a stone that I had sharpened to a similarly-shaped point. I created the spear-head before I thought to make a spear; this I did by tying the blade to a smooth, straight shaft with woven twine. Armed with this invention, I became the family's best provider. A gorilla would have to climb several trees in order to reach enough food for everyone; I could quickly fill a spear with several pieces of fruit in just one throw. Carving spear-heads also taught me, unintentionally, how to strike a flint. Jane and the Professor were very surprised to find that I already knew how to do this when they first met me. Making fire was a skill that I only ever saw as destructive, and I seldom used it once I had discovered it.

The twine that I used to make the spears was far more useful. I had noticed that the safest, strongest vines on which to climb were the ones that grew together, weaving themselves into thick, steady clumps. I began to make lengths of these for myself. My fingers were smaller, more nimble and slender at the tips than those of most apes, so I could immediately do it with ease. I then taught myself to tie knots and make snares out of the ropes I had made. These could serve all kinds of purposes - some of them better than others. Terk and I once managed to snare a marabou(11) with one. We enjoyed riding on its back, until it threw us off and dragged us through the brush.

Years later, I would use the same technique to snare something - _someone_ - else, with a result that I never intended. But that is far later to come; I do not wish to speak of it now.

My favourite use for the vines came during the rains, when I tied two branches together to shield my mother's nest, keeping her dry. It worked just as well as my wife's parasol, which I hadn't yet seen back then.

Though I was able to tie knots in vines better than anyone, I was not so good at climbing them. While the other young apes easily scampered up tall trees, I couldn't seem to grip the bark. No matter how hard I tried to grab on, my smooth fingertips would slip and slide, sending me back to the forest floor. At first, I could only climb while I had Mother or Terk nearby to keep me from falling. In time, however, I found a better way to get around. I knew that there were many creatures in the jungle that were smaller and weaker than me, yet they could move about faster than anyone. From a friendly family of colobuses(12), I learned how to swing from one vine to another, moving swiftly from tree to tree with just one reach. It took a bit of practice before I got the hang of it; but even then, my mistakes proved to be very instructive.

Once, I took hold of what I thought was a vine, not realizing that it was actually a python. In mid-swing, its slippery scales slid through my grasp, and I fell to the ground. Luckily, I landed in soft mud. With less luck, the swamp I landed in was home to several crocodiles. They were fiercer and stronger than me, and they could move very fast. With no one there to help me, the only way I could survive was to keep away from their jaws.

Crocodiles are reptiles, just like the snake that had been my downfall. They also had slippery scales, and in my rush to get away from them, I found that I was able to slide along their backs. The crocodile I was standing on couldn't reach me there, and the others couldn't lunge at me without risk of hurting one of their own. By leaping from one of them to the next and sliding along their tails, I was able to get away, making it back to the safety of the trees. Once I managed to get away from them, I realized that I had enjoyed this new way of moving; it was even quicker than swinging. I wasn't keen to leap back into the swamp and try it again, but I found a way of doing much the same thing, on a better - and safer - surface. I tried it on tree branches, and found that I was able to slide on them the same way. I started practicing on mossy branches, which gave me a lot of natural slip without much effort on my part. I could then focus on keeping my balance, gradually working at gaining speed and agility.

It came far easier to me than it did to any of the apes. When I was very young, I only had one skill to speak of that set me apart from the others: I was able to fully stretch out my legs and balance upright on my haunches, without needing to prop myself on my knuckles or hang onto vines, for far longer than anyone else. It was only years later that I learned that this is the typical way that men stand and move about. All the apes had difficulty with it; yet from the very first time that I tried, I could do it with ease. Though it was never as comfortable to me as crouching on all fours had become, I enjoyed having this skill; it was fun to have something - besides swimming - that no one else could do. Standing upright also made me taller than all the others - as tall as Kerchak, by the time I was fully grown.

For tree-sliding, this skill was essential. So too was avoiding splinters, something that took me a bit longer to master. Gradually, as the soles of my feet toughened, I was able to slip down dry branches as well as mossy ones, until every bough and limb became my trail through the jungle. No other animal in the treetops had done anything like this before. The Professor and Jane say that some humans do it, but only on ice and snow. Since I discovered it, I've taught Terk and Jane how to do it; Jane, in particular, has become quite good at it. It is the easiest, fastest way to get around, though it takes some time to be able to do it without getting sore feet.

The skin on my feet toughened, as did my hands. Whereas I once struggled to climb the rough surface of a tree, I eventually became able to scale the slick rocks of a waterfall; I easily made it to the top, finding cracks in the sheer wall to hold onto, with no fear of slipping. As I got older, my whole body grew stronger. Even now, Terk can still hold me down sometimes, when I give her an opening; but I can always throw her off again, and she wins less often than she did when we were kids.

Once, I was even able to restrain Kerchak. But I won't talk about that just now.

My skin also became less pale with age. I still very much had 'tar-zan' compared to the other apes, but I no longer burned in the sun like I used to.

When I was still very young, it became apparent that I had grown about as much hair as I ever would. What fur I had on the top of my head was longer than that of any ape, but that did little to make up for the fact that I was mostly bald everywhere else. As I was growing up, Mother noticed that with so little fur to protect me, I got burnt in the sun, and would shiver in the cold, though such things never bothered anyone else. I used to try covering myself with mud to shield my skin from the heat, but it would just dry and crack, falling off too soon. Similarly, burying myself in piles of leaves helped to keep me warm; but I couldn't move about like that, and when it rained they would wash away, leaving me bare again.

For my sake, Mother went back to the tree house and got some clothes for me. I didn't know where she got them from, at the time; she only recently told me about it. It was a very dangerous thing for her to do. For all she knew, Sabor could have still been there, using the house as her den. However, she found it empty, and was able to bring back a few garments for me. She didn't understand how 'flat-fur'(13) worked; she brought me sheets and blankets, which didn't have sleeves or fastenings. They were difficult to wear, and even harder keep on. Running and leaping as fast as the others while burdened with them was impossible. I soon stopped wearing them, getting used to the feel of the heat and the cold, to the point that neither bothered me anymore. But since Mother had gone to the trouble of getting them for me, I continued to wear just one piece of cloth around my waist. I didn't mind wearing a loin cloth; it covered me without interfering with my movement, and though it did little to shade me or keep me warm, it was a relief for Mother to know I at least wore something.

I am very thankful for it now. Perhaps, in the little time I had with my parents, they impressed upon me some sense of propiety(14).

If this was the case, it was the only human wisdom that I picked up - for a time, at least. Nor was what I learned limited to the knowledge of the apes. My mother taught me very well; but she couldn't be with me all the time, at every moment of the day. She was always near enough that I could reach her if I truly needed her. However, I would often go off on my own, without even Terk or Tantor, to try things out by myself. I wasn't afraid to go off on my own; in fact, I rather enjoyed the challenge of it. If I got into trouble, I just had to figure out how to get myself back out of it.

I learned to avoid or evade things that would attack me, rather than try to outrun them. Most predators can't climb trees very well; even a leopard slows down and thinks twice about following, if you lure it high enough. Snakes are another story, though their agility can be used against them: convince them to chase you, keep ahead of their bite, and they can be tricked into tie themselves into knots.

Though some of them were quite dangerous, I didn't avoid all the creatures that I encountered. Coming into contact with them taught me a lot - even when the lessons weren't necessarily fun. So many of the animals in the jungle became my teachers: hippos, rhinos, colobuses, chameleons, and even the crocodiles (though it wasn't their intention). Since I was equally different from the apes as I was from all of them, it made sense to me to spend time with them as well, talking to them, finding out about their ways of life.

Sometimes, this meant that I had to learn at least some of their language. The words used by all apes are very similar, though they do have their different dialects. They can talk to each other, but it takes a bit of adjusting to each other's speech patterns. Of them all, baboons are the most expressive: they wave their hands in the air to emphasise what they are saying. The smaller monkeys pronounce things in a higher tone, whining out every word in screeches; compared to the gorillas I had grown up with, who form lower tones in the hollows of their cheeks, only resorting to grunts and growls when they want to vent strong emotion.

As I learned from Tantor, elephants speak in a similar way, with many words in common between us. From talking to him, I learned many new Elephant words, which rhinos and hippos could also understand. Hippo was fun to learn: they like to greet one another by wiggling their ears at each other, or blowing out through their nostrils if they are underwater. Rhino is similar, but has fewer syllables; they tend to communicate in single grunts.

Though I mostly spoke to the friendlier animals of the jungle, I also learned how to speak to some of the unfriendly ones. Crocodiles don't talk much; they mostly just hiss and snap at their prey, to tell it that it is about to be eaten. Snakes are similar, but as well as hissing, they can be spoken to by drumming on the ground - this isn't recommended, as it only serves to taunt them, or lure them after a particularly loud-footed meal. I didn't learn any Leopard directly from them, though I do know some. I once met a family of _nagapie_(15), who only came out at night, when the leopards do most of their hunting. They had often heard them calling to each other in the distance, and taught me what they knew of their language. Most of it was declarations of territory, insults to ward off intruders, or warnings to prey.

I would eventually have to use some of those phrases later in my life, when faced with an actual leopard.

Until then, I used what I learned to impress the other apes, or to play tricks on them. Poor Mother had to put up with me waking her in the morning with an elephant's trumpet, hooting like an owl at all hours of the night, or grunting like a rhino at her from the bushes as she passed. She used to get a bit exasperated with me; tired of the constant noise, she would tell me to come up with the sound that a 'Tarzan' might make. She probably hoped that it would be somewhat quieter.

I created my own 'Tarzan' call, in time; it took me a while to come up with something that sounded like nothing else in the jungle(16).

I was also creating what a 'Tarzan' was, in every aspect. I had wanted to become the best ape ever, but in doing so, I learned to do a lot of things that no gorilla could - nor any human, for that matter. By the time I was old enough to consider myself an adult, I could climb better than anyone, wrestle anyone who would take me on, gather more food quicker than anyone, fight off any kind of attacker. I had once been behind everyone else in the family, but now I was ahead. I could even move through the jungle faster than Kerchak.

He still didn't approve of me; but I think even he had to admit that I was no longer the failure I had once been. He never said as much to anyone, but Mother says she could tell what he was thinking. Many others in the family told her how much I had grown, how much stronger and faster I was, how good I was becoming at everything. She didn't tell me at the time, in case it made me overconfident - which, in the jungle, can be a hazard in itself. But she tells me now that, at the time, she was very proud of me.

I was also proud of what I had become. When I was little, everything that I had tried to do had been so hard. Now I was older, wiser, stronger. I had learned things that kept me safe, skills that were useful, tricks that made life easier. I could not only do all these things - I excelled at many of them.

It is just as well, as I needed to be well prepared as I could be, for what was to come - little though I knew it then.

* * *

><p><span>Editor:<span>

(1) Janey is so perceptive; it is just as she says. For months on end, I avoided one whole half of the house, as best I could. I was struggling greatly, suddenly finding myself a newly-made widower. Mostly, I dealt with it by wallowing in a willful state of denial. Our in-house laboratory had always been my own private domain; with the mind frame I was in, it became easier to pretend that nothing existed outside those four walls. I now recognize how utterly selfish of me it was. Barricading myself in behind my own grief, I often failed to remember that my daughter still dwelt somewhere outside that room.

(2) How I spent that time is much a mystery to me as well. I cannot for the life of me remember what essay I was writing. Likely, it is still in my collection of papers somewhere; I shall know it by the amount of ink splatters upon it, if I ever do return to England and bother to look it up. At the time, I felt rather as though I was living inside a dense fog, with no perception of time or reality, neglectful of my duties, and incapable of doing anything much. Thank God I eventually snapped out of it, with Janey's help.

(3) No offence is meant to Tantor by this statement, of course. In his case, having an elephant in the room can only ever be a positive experience.

(4) I confess that I am also rather curious to read this intriguing little volume myself, though I rather doubt that it is at all written from a scientific point of view. I am in two minds about whether we would best allow Tarzan to read it or not, if the opportunity presented itself; I believe I rather lean towards the latter.

(5) I recall that moment most vividly: at the time, I was thinking how much my darling girl resembled her dear mother. I had never quite been so aware of how closely alike they were until right then. The resemblance had certainly always been there, but with my mind as distracted as it was, I had somehow forgotten to take notice of it. The realization, as it struck me right then and there, startled me more than a little, as you can well imagine. Just having my Janey back home again began to wake me up from the stupor I was in, if only a little bit. What she had in store for me would more than complete the cure.

(6) The topic has long been a pet-fancy of mine. I should like to someday finally complete the full written length of my dissertation upon the subject. However, it is unfortunate that I can no longer entirely do so without somehow exploiting the wealth of experience that my son-in-law possesses. Fame and fortune be damned - I am not turning my family into a science experiment, not so long as I still draw breath. I consider the discontinuation of my biophysical study upon the matter to be my ongoing, and most courteous, wedding-gift to the happy couple.

(7) That is a rather apt way of putting it. I think I have seldom had a greater - nor more pleasant - shock than I received that night. I was utterly flabbergasted, and so very proud of her - the pronunciation of the Latin geneses was absolutely flawless.

(8) Reading over what my daughter has written, I am even more shamed and appalled by my worthless behaviour. Yes, I was certainly grieving; yet this was no excuse for the complete and utter neglect that I subjected my poor girl to. Even now, my darling Annabelle is seldom far from my daily thoughts and prayers. However, I no longer let my terrible sense of loss dictate my life, nor impede me in what I do - I don't let it keep me from what matters most to me, what I still care about. My dear Janey showed me the way; she is the greatest teacher, and most invaluable, darling, adorable daughter, whom I have ever had the privilege of being able to call my own.

(9) I myself have witnessed the phenomenon of Mangani, a species of ape with a phosphorant pigment in its fur which causes it to glow under moonlight. The Zugor is new to me, and I had to ask my son-in-law to explain what it was; from what I understand, it is an entirely fictional ape-equivalent of a Bogey-Man.

(10) My son-in-law would like me to point out that Tantor, whom he considers to be an honourary member of the family, _is_ also able to swim. The pair of them used to practice together, he tells me, when they were growing up. Though Tarzan can swim faster and dive better than any elephant we know, Tantor could always stay underwater for far longer than he can. To be fair, as an elephant, Tantor has the advantage of a trunk with which allows him to keep breathing above the surface, whilst he otherwise remains fully submerged. There is only one gorilla known to us who may have the ability to swim; however, since Tublat is most definitely not part of the family, we are not at liberty to ask him.

(11) Tarzan and Terk must have indeed been very small at the time, to fit on the back of a _leptoptilos crumenifer_. It is lucky at the bird didn't have the opportunity to take flight, as it has the widest wing-span of any land-bound bird in Africa, and may have henceforth managed to throw its riders from a very high height.

(12) The _simia polycomos_ is indeed a wonderfully nimble species, particularly adept at swinging on vines; Tarzan couldn't have found a better teacher in all the jungle.

(13) This is the Ape-ish term for clothes; and a wonderfully descriptive one, at that.

(14) I myself find it fascinating to speculate whether human modesty is hereditary, or a learned trait. I should like to use Tarzan as a case study, in order to investigate the matter; however, I have my doubts as to how conclusive such a study would be, and what kind of practical purpose it could possibly serve.

(15) My son-in-law uses the local Ape-ish word for what we would call a 'galago'. The gorillas have a unique name for each species within their own dialect. My daughter and I have been endeavouring to decode and translate these names over a period of time. These titles tend to be wonderfully descriptive; for example, 'nagapie' roughly translates as 'little night monkey'. Incidentally, the _otolemur crassicaudatus _is a fascinating creature. It has bat-like ears, which afford it an acute sense of hearing, and which retract flat against its to avoid snagging on branches; very large eyes, which provide it with excellent night vision; and powerful hindquarters, allowing it to spring easily from branch to branch in the dark of night. I suppose one can now add 'able to speak various jungle languages, including some phrases of Leopard' to this list of attributes. I have long wanted to more closely study this incredible species; however, since they are wholly nocturnal, I'm afraid that they are predominately active when it is well past my bedtime.

(16) As it so happens, after much surveying and consulting with the locals, I have found that of the many animal languages that my son-in-law knows - we have some difficulty in counting them all, as he claims to know no more than a few words of some; but they must number well into the tens, it not close to a hundred - there is only one word common to them all, and coincidently, also to English: 'Tarzan'. Every creature in this jungle knows his name, to varying effects. Some react in a friendly manner to its utterance; whilst others become defensive, or downright threatening, depending on their species and the reputation he has amongst them. Few other words that one can utter in this part of the world will garner as much respect, or such fear, as that one word can do.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: another chapter done! This was a long one, and a hard one. You'd think that Tarzan's adolescence would be the more difficult of the two to write, but I actually struggled more with the emotional drama between Jane and her father. Professor Porter had a lot of footnotes this time, mostly because he was such a major part of the plot; I wanted to have him at least partially tell his side of the story. <em>

Homininae mangani_ is actually a made-up name for the gorillas' genus; in the original _Tarzan_ books, the apes' species is called the 'mangani', so I thought I'd continue the tradition. A character named Mangani turns up in the _Legend of Tarzan_ tv series, which I've mentioned here. This is the one and only time I'll reference the Tarzan prequel film; I haven't seen it, and only know enough about the plot to reference it as I have. Anyone who has seen the '_Face from the Past_' tv episode will know that the reference to Tarzan learning to 'strike a flint' comes from that. _

_I did some research to figure out the animals that appear in the film - the galagos (aka 'bush babies') during 'You'll be in my Heart', the colobuses and marabou stork from 'Son of Man' - but I might not have gotten them all (or any of them!) right. The word 'nagapie' actually comes from Afrikaans; I found an Ape-English dictionary online - that is where break-down of the meanings of 'tar' and 'zan' come from - based on the original books, and wanted to use a similar device to define Gorilla as a separate language._

_And yes, the loin cloth deserved an explanation. Admit it, it did. Disney's censoring of nudity (mostly!) for young viewers doesn't count as in-story justification, so I came up with my own logic behind it (and I use the word 'logic' very loosely). The term 'flat-fur' is poached straight from the 'Immortals' series of books by Tamora Pierce - it was too perfectly fitting to pass up using here!_

_Next, I'd like to go with my original idea of writing something from Terk/Tantor's points of view. I'd also like to feature Eleanor, Greenly and Hazel (from the 'British Invasion' episode) again down the track, they are such great characters - I have a particular soft spot for Hazel!_

_By the way, I know that running three stories for the one fandom at once might be a bit excessive - especially given how many other stories I'm still yet to finish - but would anyone be interested in reading another one? I'd started writing a story that features Bazuli and Naoh, from the _Legend of Tarzan_ tv series; they're a bit obscure compared to the characters from the film, but Bazuli was in the original books, and they have a lot of plot potential (I planned to eventually feature them in this story as well, much further down the track). I've got the first chapter all ready to go, so if anyone wants to see it, please let me know in a review!_

_~ W.J._


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